


Bright as Moonstone

by MrMundy



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M, Many ocs in this, but mostly for worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23730844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMundy/pseuds/MrMundy
Summary: miraak and gelebor. a couple of old dudes, sad backstories, and a collection of characters to help tie them together.
Relationships: Miraak/Gelebor
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> if it helps a little bit: 
> 
> mirelebor : a young snow elf that was sleeping beauty'd into sleeping for five thousand years, woke up and was completely lost, ended up at the college of winterhold where he found solace in learning history.
> 
> arch-mage torvold : a young nord transman who began studying restoration magic, ended up being put on the path to becoming arch-mage after helping mirelebor find his place. he and mirelebor are really gay.
> 
> the different factions are headed by other characters of mine in an attempt to liven up my last dragonborn's ( ariquar ) worldspace. the dawnguard adventurer is a dunmer lady named ilinye but she's only mentioned in passing here!
> 
> sorry if this stuff is choppy / short, it was written out of rabid inspiration from twitter!

He's alive and living in the physical world once again. It's more than Miraak can truly believe, given his circumstances. But the Last Dragonborn had been kind to him, had offered a hand in assistance, guidance away from Hermaeus Mora's watchful gaze and he'd taken it. 

After some time relearning Skyrim ( it had changed so much since he'd last walked its roads, seen it from the perspective of a mortal being ) he's settled into the college of Winterhold to spend some time with their library, to re-learn the waking world with a fresh mind. The Arch-Mage, recently chosen, has introduced him to a being he'd not expected: a snow elf, living, still fresh-faced and young. With his knowledge from Mora, he began to befriend the young mer quickly, teaching him the events that had transpired, the fate of his people. The young mer - Mirelebor, his name was - was distraught to learn of his people's true end, sheltered from him thus far. Miraak felt sorrow for him.

Still yet, his lessons continued. Originally, the Arch-Mage had been teaching Mirelebor his letters and the modern language rules. However, despite how close they were, the poor young Arch-Mage was far too busy to take time from his days to teach him. Mirelebor was pleased to have Miraak as a teacher, now, asking him what things he’d learned in the realm of the prince of knowledge. 

While Miraak did not enjoy retracing his days as Mora’s charge, he found some comfort in the lessons he could teach the young mer.

Months passed, easily, as he helped Mirelebor learn. He heard of the stories of the Last Dragonborn, saw him in passing in the college as he traced the steps he needed to take to keep them safe from Alduin’s bane. Only once did Miraak offer his help, but the Last had shaken his head and said that it was his duty alone; that prompted a snort from his companion, and Miraak felt a strange comfort then, that the Last had such confidence now. A far cry from their first meeting.

There came a day after the death of Alduin, after a visit from the Last, that the Arch-Mage Torvold came into the College with a stack of papers, rolling out a scroll in front of him and Mirelebor. 

“You’re going to love this,” He said, pointing out the notes he’d taken. “The Dawnguard found a falmer sanctuary.”

Miraak watched as the young mer’s face lit up and he stood, grabbing Torvold by the shoulders.

“Really?” Mirelebor said, and at the vigorous nodding, Miraak’s own curiosity became apparent. They set up a travelling kit the next day, packs rolled with rations and gear to sleep in, Mirelebor’s books and lanterns that Miraak could continue to use to teach him. They set out first by carriage, travelling along long roads and icy winter terrain toward the place in Torvold’s notes.

There was a trail mapped out by the Dawnguard adventurer who’d discovered the place, her notes scribbled atop Torvold’s in clear writing that told them just where to go. Through the Vale, through icy paths and past Frost Trolls that Miraak Shouted away from them. At the end of a cave, dark and wet and cold, stood the unmistakable outline of a humanoid being, tending to a swath of herbs growing beside beautifully carved shrines.

The Knight-Paladin heard them coming and turned, caught the eyes of the younger falmer, and Miraak watched as the breath fogged around the mer’s mouth.

“You are so young,” he heard him say, and then, louder, “And with humans.”

Mirelebor calmed him with reassurances that they were here to help; recounted his story of his Atmoran love who’d put him into a sleep so long he’d forgotten his history, and the knight relented. Introducing himself as Gelebor, he guided the three into the inner sanctum of his sanctuary, found them a place to rest and began to explain the things lost to time of the falmer traditions, and Miraak found himself enraptured by his words.

How curious he was at such new ideas, at things he hadn’t heard in thousands of years, in a perspective from one who’d lived such days and tended to the rituals of his people for so long.

They stayed as long as they had supplies. Three days, not wanting to expend Gelebor’s personal stores and his resources. Mirelebor had never looked happier than he had then, standing beside the taller falmer, learning the things he’d lost after eras asleep in an abandoned temple. Soon, sadly, the time to leave came, and Gelebor saw them off at the entrance to the cave, gave Mirelebor a wrapped scroll and what little things he had preserved: a shawl made of fabric as white as snow, a book written in ancient falmeris. 

Miraak felt a sense of pride at seeing Mirelebor so delighted on their way back to the college. He’d thumbed through the pages and shown Miraak his language, read passages out loud in a tongue Miraak hadn’t heard in so long and had never understood. 

The strangest thing was, as he set foot upon the college’s steps once back, he felt compelled to find his way back to the strange knight, to learn more.

He slept oddly, now, dreams not plagued by Mora's eyes but with Gelebor's words, deep and careful. Gentle explanations of the falmer's rich history enveloped his mind, and finally -

He gave in. Miraak left, a note slipped to his apprentice's notebook. He found his way across snow-covered hills and mountainsides to the sanctuary once more, stepping into the morning light to see the back of Gelebor's stark white armor gleaming. Gelebor turned, outlined by the light, and laughed.

"What is it they say, human? Curiosity slew the alfiq?"

Miraak found himself laughing, as well, a low chuckle as he stepped closer.

"If curiosity could kill, I would have been gone long before now."


	2. Chapter 2

The sanctuary, having seen visitors as of late, was much more homey in recent times. Gelebor had taken it upon himself to clean things up proper - sure, he had been tending to the shrines, to the living quarters - but only as much as he needed. With Miraak visiting so often, he had motivation to keep things more habitable.

( There  _ had  _ been that adventurer with her vampire friend - but appearances from them were so few and far-between that Gelebor had never considered the extended stay of anyone but himself. )

But perhaps that was for the best. Having guests, that was - even if it was only Miraak and his apprentice, another young falmer that Gelebor had been more than pleased to meet. The boy had enormous potential, and he was, perhaps, finding himself becoming attached to him. 

But then, he was attached to Miraak, as well. How strange, he finds himself thinking each day that passes, that a human man could catch his attentions so easily. That he could make him feel as though he hasn’t been waiting thousands of years for someone to simply listen to him.

He sits, now, leaning against the backrest of an old couch with a fire gently dying in a hearth in front of him. Miraak lays upon his lap, staring up at him while the light slowly dims, bringing them into a comfortable coolness as night falls and Gelebor knows that soon his Dragonborn will leave and head back to the college, to teach his charge more modern reading and writing. He dreads it every time they part and voices that to Miraak, a low complaint that’s more of a rumble in his chest than truly spoken word. 

"You could leave," Miraak suggests, and Gelebor hums quietly. Miraak continues, voice hesitant. “The college is a good place; you might enjoy it.”

"And abandon the last sanctuary of my people?" He asks, brushing his fingers through Miraak’s hair. "I should preserve what little I have left."

"You have another, you know." Miraak says, "The boy would be glad to have you around."

And there lies that fact; that Gelebor is not the only one left, that there is another ( perhaps more, somewhere,  _ slumbering _ , ) who is still so young. Who needs to be taught the principles of his culture and the things he's slowly forgetting after a five-thousand year sleep.

"Is he my responsibility?" Gelebor asks, and though he knows he feels drawn to be a teacher, to mentor the young mer, he wants to hear Miraak's reasoning. 

"Not necessarily, but you speak often of preserving your culture, your people's memory. What better way to do so than to go out into the world and teach it firsthand? And to such a willing mind, someone who needs his own culture?" Miraak says, and the argument would be compelling if Gelebor hadn't already made up his mind.

"I will need to preserve this place," he starts, and sees Miraak's face fall. He reaches for him, a hand resting gently upon his face, tilting his chin to look up at him. "But it has stayed safe for so long. Leaving with you, to teach the boy - I'm sure the sanctuary will fare just fine."

Miraak looks delighted. He leans upward, off of the embroidered pillows and pulls Gelebor to him in a kiss that lasts only moments.

"You will not regret walking the world again," he whispers, feeling Gelebor's breath against his face. 

“How special you are, Miraak, to pull me from my duty.” Their noses brush, and Gelebor finds that he’s looking forward to leaving the chantry. “I do not think I could regret being by your side, no matter the outcome.”


End file.
